


Stay A While

by goodwineandcheese



Category: Monster
Genre: F/M, Jan Suk (mentioned), Lunge is a gentleman, Lunge's Family Life, Lungeva, dinner date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:52:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14507238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodwineandcheese/pseuds/goodwineandcheese
Summary: Post-canon. Lunge muses on the development of his relationship to his family, and to miss Eva Heinemann before a date with the latter.





	Stay A While

**Author's Note:**

> Omg I've never written Lunge in my life.....so this was interesting for me. I just hope I did them both justice, they're new for me XD This fic isn't really very romantic or anything (blame that on Lunge) but it has an open ending so....you can take it however you want.

The notion of partnership had been much simpler before. It was straightforward; a man was expected to carry his family’s name through a new generation, producing offspring that would go on to replace him and repeat the cycle. In achieving that objective, Lunge had seen his duty to “family” as fulfilled; his role was completed. It was, most often, the mother to raise the child, a part that was not his to play. His function as husband was to provide - which he did, dutifully. But there had been an element missing. 

He had failed to account for the most human factor, the _emotional_ factor.

Lunge himself was not a man of deep feeling; he felt, surely, but he was far from a romantic, certainly not soft-hearted or exceptionally sentimental. He was ruled by the center of logic and reason, acting solely on data he objectively collected, definitions he obtained. As such his definition of “husband” had been one devoid of affection; he saw it as a duty, as he saw his role as “father” - supporter, provider, protector - those were the roles he fulfilled. He made it so that his wife and daughter had a home to return to, wealth to spend on material possessions to their fancy, and food to prepare for the family. But, as it turned out, the lack of emotional support….lack of adequate social interaction...so-called “family time” was too much for the women to bear.

He provided all else, but the lack of heart had condemned him. At the time he hadn’t understood. Even now he was sure he could never comprehend it from their perspective, not exactly as they felt in that time, but he respected the truth that he had failed to meet their needs as husband and father.

Perhaps this time, the relationship would be lasting. It certainly felt _different_ than the first.

There was nothing predictable about her. She acted on whims and fancies, though appeared to have a self-understood structure to her chaos. Lunge’s world was one of order; dinner by six, followed promptly by the news. Work he’d taken home was halted, no questions, by eight - a new rule in his routine, imposed since the Tenma case reached proper conclusion. His daughter had suggested it, as a means to restrict himself from losing to his obsessions. It was rarely an hour or two later that he would retire to bed - three, if he felt especially daring. But it was always on the exact minute, never before, never after. His life followed planned timetables and lists. But of miss Heinemann…

Just this afternoon she had stopped by for a visit - unplanned, as ever - and declared they were to have dinner together. It was a declaration - there had been not a waver in the confident chord of her voice, in fact as he reflected now he was sure there was a _dare._ Miss Heinemann was not a woman to be displeased nor refused; perhaps she had dared that he try to refuse her, to see how much she had to push to have her way. He hadn’t; he knew well enough that attempting to argue simply became a game to her - that somehow, strangely, she took pleasure in attempting to wrest control in a situation from he who would defy her. The few times that he _did_ refuse her - be it on a busy day or simply out of exhaustion - such futile attempts ended in compromise; dinner was shifted to another night, or perhaps he would have lunch with her instead.

He was, however, glad of it; her unwillingness to be set aside even for the most genuine reasons. It was, in part, what kept Lunge himself on track, what kept him from slipping back into the old mindset, the lifeless man who worked for work’s sake. With the introduction of an unpredictable element, he was forced to remain at the ready, flexible to change. It was trying on his traditionally rigid mind, but, it was well worth the efforts for the positive change it had had, thus far, on his life. Even his daughter took notice of his willingness to break his own rules, the few times that they met. She was beginning to exhibit behaviours much like his own, something he had never noticed in the past but now was exceedingly aware of. A sharp mind, a structured lifestyle, even a tendency to shut out all obstructions to her goals rather than embrace them. Of course, in her it was far more tempered than it ever was in him.

She knew about miss Heinemann, of course. In his earliest emails he had been certain to mention that he had met someone. She of course had pried and, in perhaps understandable cynicism, had not seemed hopeful. But never had Lunge been one to _hope._ A relationship was an objective, one with goals and milestones. Just as with work, he observed those milestones and calculated the best means to achieve them, the best means to keep it from falling apart. Perhaps objectively it sounded stale...but miss Henemann provided a true puzzling challenge for his mind. The question of _what would keep her happy_ was not one that could simply be deduced in the usual way. The variables were inconsistent, they changed from week to week. He couldn’t simply _predict_ how to keep her satisfied; it was a constant effort that kept his mind active, pondering.

Yet _that_ was what maintained _his_ intrigue. 

They both perhaps enjoyed their strange mind games; he in his desires to predict the behaviours and actions of another, to understand their motivations through his own investigative skills. She enjoyed the banter, the subtle plays for power, the social warfare that determined who held the upper hand in a given situation and who would be forced to compromise. She was, by far, the superior in the field, but he was not without his own victories. Still, he respected her mind; cunning and unwavering, it was not so different from his own, in a way. _She_ was not so different.

Perhaps that was what had drawn them together in the first place. Shared minds and shared stories; experiences in the hunt for one Doctor Kenzo Tenma, a man directly or indirectly involved in the crumbling of their respective lives, yet also part of their repair. Perhaps in another situation it would be bitterly ironic that they even teased such a relationship, with shared experiences centered around arguably the lower points in their lives. But, this was simply a step forward for both of them. A step forward that happened to be taken together, in a shared space.

He had an hour to prepare before he needed to retrieve miss Heinemann - a rare occasion. Eva often insisted _she_ pick him up, though he supposed it made sense; hers was the more appealing car, and she preferred to be ready on her own time, rather than held to his standards. “Dinner” to the common man would be a simple engagement; perhaps held at one or the other’s homes, perhaps at a modest restaurant. That was never the case with Eva Henemann. Dinner was an ordeal; fine dresswear and fine eating, she would have nothing less. Not for dinner. Perhaps it was her perception of what “a dinner date” was to be. Her preference for expensive tastes didn’t seem to eek into lunch, from their various prior engagements. But, the infrequency of their dinners made it a tolerable habit of hers; more often they shared coffee or lunch, far cheaper but certainly not poor quality or company.

Lunge was a man for appearances, as much as that notion surprised many. It was not that he hoped to look appealing to the opposite sex, but simply he would not be seen as anything below _professional_. A dark gray pressed suit, a plain black tie, black squared shoes and near-black trousers. Ah...and of course his watch. Eva fancied it, but he saw it as a mere tool for telling time; regardless, if it served them both, then that was all the more reason to wear it. But with that he was done. He _had_ an hour of preparation time, but barely a third of it was needed. He imagined that miss Heinemann, however, spent ample time preparing her appearance. Not for him of course, but for the crowd that would inevitably turn heads and watch; she was a creature of perfection in her appearance and mannerisms in the very same way Lunge was toward his profession. He could respect her need to appear flawless.

He arrived at her home on the minute, exactly as he had said. Now the only mystery was what new apparel she wore for this occasion. She enjoyed, from what he could tell, a vast wardrobe at varying degrees of presentability, from casual to much more formal attire. Her taste was very good, perhaps even admirable; it was no small feat to understand and surpass the trends in fashion, to stand out as well as she did. 

The Eva Heinemann that greeted him today sported a light blue pencil skirt and even lighter blouse, a darker jacket pulled over her shoulders to protect her from the cooler outside air - complemented well by the white pearls around her neck that stood out starkly in the ensemble. Her shoes were simple enough - heeled and black, they gave her a few inches, bringing them just slightly closer together.

It was a perfect presentation, down to the character and language that she used in her walk. She breathed charisma, and each step was taken with confidence - not a stumble or waver in her gait. There was the slightest sway in her movements - fluid, but subtle. The sharpness of her gaze demanded his attention, the thin smirk and half-lidded eyes reminiscent of that of a trickster’s. There was electricity when their eyes met, a brief spark that had so long gone unfelt by Lunge. He greeted her at the door, adjusting his jacket as she closed a respectable distance between them.

“My golden chariot has arrived.” The words from her lips were spoken with as much the playful lilt as her expression itself. He responded with a smile, standing aside and gesturing to the passenger side. “Indeed.”

He held Eva’s door open for her, watching the woman slide easily into her seat, crossing one leg over the other comfortably - and slowly, perhaps teasingly so, the mildly catlike smile still there as Lunge closed the door and circled around to the driver side. Perhaps now would be an appropriate time to complement her.

“You look lovely this evening, miss Heinemann.” His words were complemented with a slight smile, not large enough to make much difference, but noticeable to keen eyes such as hers. She focused her attention forward, on the road ahead, sparing only a very brief sidelong glance and the flutter of eyelashes, and a quirk of her lips. “Thank you.” Her response was polite, simple, though the compliment was not returned - there was no need. Now perhaps would be best to be sure she was, indeed, prepared. “You have everything, I take it? Before we get too far.”

“Of course.” She spoke calmly, patting her purse. “Please, take us to dinner.”

* * * * * * * * * * *  
He found himself observing her idly as they reached their destination - recording data, as ever, into the back of his mind. The particular way that she stood when he opened the car door for her - slowly and with purpose, she swiveled in her seat, extending one leg out into the air ahead of her and then the other, rising slowly with her hand gently braced against the door as she stood. Her fingers slid along the edge of the car door, finally drifting down to push it closed as she took a step forward, all the while her gaze never leaving Lunge for a moment. It was deliberate of course, prolonged eye contact was difficult for many humans to maintain; for her it was an expression of power, and a test - whether he would be cowed by it or meet it in kind. By the held gaze, he had opted not to back down. The very small quirk of her lips as her eyes flicked forward was indicative of approval.

“I won’t have you paying for me, you know.” The words were directed his way, though she wasn’t looking at him. “It was a sweet gesture the last time, but I like to support myself. I hope you don’t mind.” 

That was an interesting statement. Ordinarily, it was traditional for the man to pay for the woman’s share. He had no reason to believe that miss Heinemann felt the need to break that tradition; by the nature of her family, tradition seemed to be the way her mind would operate - but, perhaps it was too quick of him to assume. Perhaps the rattling changes in her life that had seen her to the lowest point inspired a new lifestyle. Where perhaps Doctor Tenma would have paid for her dinner in this situation, she viewed life in a different light now, unwilling to have her own support taken - even with charitable or kind intent - into the hands of someone else. If that was her choice, regardless of the reason he would respect it.

“Very well, miss Heinemann.”

“Eva.”

Lunge’s eye narrowed a fraction and he glanced her way questioningly, the woman now returning his gaze fully - the expression she wore was playful, hardly one of any offense. “This isn’t _work_ , is it? You can call me Eva. There’s no need to be so formal.”

Ah. That was understandable. Particularly in a social engagement, “miss Heinemann” was unsuitable. Inside the databanks of his mind, a new entry was keyed, stored for the future.

“Very well, miss Eva.”

A quiet chuckle. He had opted not to drop the _miss_ , earning what seemed to be an amused response. Eva. Yes, that was much swifter off the tongue.

* * * * * * * * * * *  
Dinner was itself pleasantly peaceful; the expected small talk was engaged, the passing of mild banter back and forth and most especially the trading of stories. Eva had spoken with Tenma recently - it was rare that he wasn’t busy these days, and so she had been swift to the opportunity. He was doing, as she put it, “well enough” - her expression had seemed nostalgic, amused; he had not changed, then. The life of Kenzo Tenma was not the Inspector’s business, nor was it his place to involve himself; however, he appreciated the updated data he gleaned from these talks. Though no longer directly involved, Tenma was an intriguing individual, worth keeping track of.

She spoke of trivial things - calling maintenance to take a look at her plumbing, the terrible sense of style some of her clients had. It was all information he took in indiscriminately, focusing more on Eva and her behaviours than the meaning behind her words. She was straightforward, there was nothing hidden behind her words to interpret; however he absorbed more about Eva herself. 

From her dialogue he learned which clients she considered the most trouble, and which she was bothered by in a gentler, more endearing fashion. He learned what types of projects she enjoyed the most, and which were the most tedious and exhausting - full kitchen renovations, it seemed her clients always had visions that clashed. He offered his opinions when prompted - either verbally or with a look. This sort of talk was comfortable, he was able to allow his mind to analyse data in the background while he responded to the immediate conversation. 

She was interested in the happenings in his own life, but only once she had spilled as much as there was to say about hers. He was more than happy to allow her to talk on and on about herself, if that was what she wished. He had fewer words himself, had always been a problem solver more than a conversationalist; her eagerness to tell him the goings-on of her life and allow him simple commentary worked well for them. But, he didn’t deny her curiosity when she asked of himself. 

Comparatively, there was very little to say, and certainly less of any interest. His position at the police academy was serving him well, and he occasionally met with Detective Suk to discuss work over a beer, a tradition they carried in memory of the late Wolfgang Grimmer, more for Suk’s benefit than his own, but he certainly saw no reason to refuse a talk over good beer.

Dinner however finally did come to an end, Eva flagging down the waiter and clarifying the bill was to be split - despite the cheerful jest as to who the “unlucky” one would be on the part of their server. She had chuckled at it all the same.

The drive back to her home was uneventful, the night silent; most were not out at this hour, the roads relatively clear, leaving only the empty air between them. The glow of lights coloured the pair brightly in passing moments, illuminating expressions thoughtful and amused. 

When he arrived at her home, Lunge was once more the gentleman, seeing her to the door. “Thank you for tonight, Eva,” He adjusted his jacket, passing a thin smile to the woman beside him, observing as she reached into her purse for her keys. “I rather enjoyed myself.” It probably didn’t show very well, he never had been one to emote. She, on the other hand, was quite the opposite, her expression lifting in a look of definite gladness. “The clock hasn’t struck midnight yet.” There was a gleam in her eye as she said it. “We still have time. Share a drink with me.”

Ah, yes. Earlier she had referenced the golden chariot. She did seem to enjoy peppering her humour with folktales. But the request...he _had_ hoped he might retire early for the night. Drinks with Eva…he knew that she was responsible with her drinking now, it wasn’t that he distrusted her; simply, he hadn’t planned for this and was unprepared. He gave her a weary glance, checking his watch. 

“Perhaps another night.” His tone was apologetic - as much as it could be, from him - and polite as he shifted slightly, about to turn back. “I don’t--” 

A raised hand. He fell silent, understanding the unspoken request and complying. Her lips curved upward in a devilish little smile, the kind that ignited an unexpected flicker in him. She moved in closer, blocking the Inspector between herself and her door, refusing to release him. When she spoke finally it was with a softer voice; softer, but mildly teasing.

“What’s one drink, _Inspector?_ Stay a while.”

There it was again, that small spark. One drink. Certainly, there would be no harm. Lunge found he couldn’t refuse.


End file.
